


A Healing Hand

by iceprinceofbelair



Series: The Adventures of Harry Potter and Newt Scamander [2]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Autistic Newt Scamander, Child Neglect, Emotional Baggage, Gen, Healing, Living in Newt Scamander's Suitcase, Obscurial Harry Potter, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-23 13:53:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14935539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iceprinceofbelair/pseuds/iceprinceofbelair
Summary: Harry Potter has been abused and made to fear his own magic. Enter Newt Scamander, the foremost authority on suppressed magic as the only wizard to have ever successfully healed an obscurial. Together, they become a family.





	1. The Boy Who Lived

**Author's Note:**

> I will add more tags/characters as more things happen! I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think if you get a chance!!

Newt Scamander is freaking out. He has a child fast asleep in his shed and a very bossy bowtruckle currently trying to coerce him into eating what is frankly an excessively large pile of pumpkin seeds. 

“I’m fine, Pickett!” He says irritably, accidentally accepting another seed in the process of his rebuke. He chews it slowly, unwilling to admit that pumpkin seeds are actually rather nice, and pointedly abandons Pickett on the table to show that he isn’t going to stand for this force-feeding any more.

As it turns out, it’s an empty gesture because Pickett throws another seed at the back of his head and blows a sad raspberry which has Newt putting him back on his shoulder again out of pity.

“Yes, I know they’re good for me but I really don’t think that should be your number one concern right now,” he huffs.

The reason Newt Scamander is freaking out, however, has more to do with the little boy asleep in his bed than it does with Pickett’s attempts to make sure he gets enough iron. Newt hadn’t truly been freaking out until three minutes ago when he’d gone to make sure Harry was still breathing and noticed a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

_ Fuck,  _ he thinks.  _ I’ve kidnapped Harry Potter. _

Albus Dumbledore is going to murder him.

Pickett squeaks.

Well, if he doesn’t choke to death on a pumpkin seed first.

~

Newt hovers anxiously outside the headmaster’s office, feeling quite appalled that nobody had tried to stop a literal stranger from wandering the castle unattended. They really should install some sort of reception area with charmed visitor badges and, at the very least, a bag search. Newt shakes himself. As much as he’d be happy to continue internally critiquing the school’s lax security, he really does have to speak to Dumbledore.

It’s only at this exact moment that he realises he doesn’t know the password.

However, it soon becomes apparent that luck is on his side when the very man he’s looking for rounds the corner and breaks into a wide smile.

“Newton, my boy,” he greets, visibly abstaining from giving Newt a hearty pat on the back. “What brings you and your magical menagerie to my office on a Thursday afternoon?”

Newt notes that Dumbledore doesn’t have to say anything for the gargoyle to reveal the spiral staircase. He wonders if it’s some kind of voice-recognition charm. Or perhaps, as he’s always suspected, Dumbledore is just ridiculously brilliant.

“Headmaster,” Newt returns, fixing his eyes on Dumbledore’s left shoulder. 

Before he can go on, Dumbledore interrupts. “Please, my boy. I think you’ve earned the right to call me Albus after everything.”

Newt nods but both men know that the formalities will continue as if Dumbledore had never spoken. They reach the top of the spiral staircase and Newt quite suddenly forgets his meticulously planned speech in the presence of Dumbledore’s ever-fantastical office. The entire room rings with magical potential and it never fails to make Newt feel a little bit sick. The constant movement and bright colours are somewhat overwhelming and something, somewhere, always seems to be quietly ticking away at an infuriating volume.

After a moment, Dumbledore’s voice cuts through his haze and Newt consciously forces his attention back to the headmaster.

“I thought you were planning to stay in Europe for another month or so,” he says, eyeing Newt curiously. 

“I was,” Newt confirms, chewing absently at his lower lip. He can’t help but let his eyes wander round the room again as he sets his case down gently. “But I heard whispers of an obscurus attack in Britain and I thought I could be of some assistance.”

In all honesty, Newt had assumed that the obscurial in question had had something to do with the latest dark lord. Perhaps a wizarding family had tried to protect their child from the evils of the wizarding world. Maybe the child was a war orphan being bullied for their strangeness in a muggle orphanage.

Newt had naively assumed that muggles as cruel as Mary Lou Barebone were no longer allowed near children. He’s struggling to come to terms with the fact that another Credence Barebone has slipped through the poorly cast net of wizarding Britain. And Harry Potter, no less. 

Dumbledore fixes Newt with a thoughtful gaze. “I assume from your presence here that you have found the child in question?”

Newt hesitates. There is simply no way to put this delicately so he opts for straightforward.

“Harry Potter is an obscurial.”

There is a moment of silence during which Newt stares fixedly at the floor, unsure of how Dumbledore will respond to what is effectively an accusation. There is not a single wizard in Britain who doesn’t know that Dumbledore took responsibility for Harry Potter’s placement in 1981. Newt only raises his head when he hears a  _ thunk  _ and sees that Dumbledore has sat down heavily in a hastily conjured armchair. He looks pale.

“You’re sure?” He croaks. Newt has never seen his mentor so horribly shaken.

“He as good as told me so himself,” Newt confirms sadly, somewhat relieved to note that Dumbledore appears just as shocked as Newt had been with his discovery. “It seems he was raised in similar circumstances to Credence Barebone.”

Dumbledore looks up sharply. “They beat him?”

Newt feels a rumble of power in the air and feels uncomfortably as though the walls are closing in around him. He swallows.

“I can’t be certain. But they treated him abysmally,” he says and then pauses, uncertain whether he should continue. “I found him in a cupboard.”

Something explodes on Dumbledore’s desk and Newt jumps back, pulling his wand instinctively. Pickett, bless him, scrambles down Newt’s wand arm to squeak profanities at Newt’s former teacher. Newt blanches.

“Language, Pickett!” He scolds, snatching the bowtruckle up in his free hand and holding him up at eye level. “What on earth has gotten into you today?”

Pickett, for his part, does have the sense to look at least mildly ashamed. With an exasperated roll of his eyes, Newt tucks Pickett back into his top pocket with firm instructions to  _ stay.  _ Dumbledore looks bemused.

“I do believe that bowtruckle has claimed you as his tree, my boy,” he says cheerily but his eyes lack their usual sparkle. He sighs, deflating as he continues. “I knew those muggles were far from perfect but I never dreamed they’d treat an innocent child with such cruelty.”

Newt isn’t sure whether Dumbledore is looking for understanding or rebuke and so settles instead for silence which he has learned is always the safest route.

“Where is Harry now?” Dumbledore asks quietly.

“Asleep,” Newt replies, gesturing to the suitcase nestled behind his left leg. “He, um. I didn’t realise he knew absolutely nothing of magic and I think the idea of an expanding suitcase was a bit too much too soon. I was worried about triggering his obscurus so I gave him a calming draught and I, uh, well, I forgot that he’s only half my size and it knocked him right out.”

To Newt’s surprise, Dumbledore laughs.

“I’m sure he could do with the sleep,” he says solemnly. “A lot of things are going to change for him very quickly from here on out.”

Newt has to agree though he isn’t even sure what he’s going to do now. He has absolutely no idea how to raise a child. The last child to even set foot in his suitcase had been back in 1929 and even during their travels then she had been primarily raised by her brother. Panic starts to rise in Newt’s chest as he thinks about the enormity of the situation he has found himself in. Harry Potter,  _ the  _ Harry Potter, is an obscurial but he’s also a frightened, abused child. He’s going to need love and care and consistency and, Merlin, he’s going to need food. What do children eat these days? Do they still like sugar or is everything organic now? 

Quite frankly, Newt knows as much about raising children as he does about cricket. That is to say, nothing.

Suddenly finding his legs incapable of supporting him, Newt sits down heavily on the floor and digs his fingers into the midnight blue carpet. He wants to tell Dumbledore that he isn’t equipped for this, that he hasn’t the first clue about raising a child, that he doesn’t have any human-approved food aside from pumpkin seeds and a metric ton of pre-made cheese sandwiches under a stasis charm. Instead, he thinks back to his arrival at the school and says, “You really ought to have better security. I just walked right in. I could have been anyone.”

Dumbledore, to his credit, only hesitates for a moment before he replies. “This is certainly something Minerva has already raised with me at least twice. I’ll make sure to speak to her about it this evening.”

Newt nods and silence falls between them. He feels a little calmer when he focuses on the way the carpet makes his hands buzz with electricity when he rubs it. It takes a moment for Newt to realise that, despite his fear, he hasn’t once even considered the possibility of relinquishing Harry’s guardianship to anyone else. Even if Newt didn’t already find himself caring for the boy - his eyes hold the same fear that Credence’s once did and it breaks Newt’s heart a little inside to even consider abandoning Harry to anyone else - it just doesn’t make logical sense for anyone else to raise him. Newt is the foremost expert on obscurials and the only person in the world to have ever cured one. He has an obligation to help Harry and he’s never been one to leave any creature to fend for itself if he could help it.

(But, whether he’s willing to admit it or not, Harry Potter found a place in his heart the second he asked Newt about his niffler and there is virtually nothing which could convince him to hand Harry over to anyone else.)

All at once, Newt knows what he needs to do and he’s on his feet in an instant, suitcase firmly in hand.

Dumbledore smiles encouragingly. “Go. I’ll take care of the Ministry. Several people on the Wizengamot owe me a favour.”

With a curt nod, Newt is barrelling down the spiral staircase with as much dignity as he can muster. Without needing his brain to direct them, his feet take him straight to Hagrid’s overgrown hut. He knocks briskly on the door, bouncing on the balls of his feet with as adrenaline courses through him. 

“Mr Scamander!” Hagrid exclaims as he opens this door, his giant form completely filling the doorway. He’s wearing floral oven mitts and nearly drops a metal pot when he sees his visitor.

“Please, Hagrid, it’s just Newt,” he replies fondly, eyes settling on Hagrid’s pink cheek. Fang comes lumbering forward and Newt greets him with a vigorous scratch behind the ears which has the boarhound eating out of the palm of his hand.

(Literally. Newt always brings him biscuits.)

“What brings you ‘ere today?” Hagrid asks, ushering him inside. 

Newt smiles. Hagrid’s hut, small as it is, has always felt very homey to him. Perhaps it’s simply the knowledge that Hagrid is a kindred spirit but, even in the midst of a mild panic, Newt finds himself unexpectedly relaxed by just being inside it. While Hagrid busies himself with the pot, Newt reaches into his expanded pocket and pulls out an egg which is roughly the size and shape of a beach ball. Hagrid turns and stops in his tracks. 

“Is that…”

Newt can’t help but grin. “Female, judging by the size of it,” he says, handing the egg to Hagrid who accepts it carefully. “I thought Aragog might get lonely. They’re very social creatures you know.”

Hagrid’s eyes are shining and he pulls Newt in for an engulfing hug. As it is, Newt practically disappears in Hagrid’s enormous arms.

“I have to go away for a bit and I couldn’t be sure I could keep her safe,” Newt adds as Hagrid releases him, rambling on to calm himself from the sudden and unexpected contact. “I have a rather more...delicate creature who needs my attention and I don’t think having her around would do him any good.”

While Newt does like Hagrid a great deal, he isn’t as naive as Dumbledore to trust him with too many secrets. He’s a sweetheart, certainly, but he’d make a terrible secret keeper. Newt understands, though. He gets excited and he wants to share. That is certainly something Newt can relate to.

“Thanks,” Hagrid says, wiping his teary eyes with the back of his hand. “Aragog’ll be so happy.”

Newt smiles brightly. He remembers when Dumbledore had called him in to meet a very distressed Hagrid following his expulsion. He’d brightened up considerably when Newt had told him that he wasn’t the only one to be expelled for loving dangerous creatures a bit too much and they’d been fast friends ever since.

“Got time for a bite t’eat?” Hagrid asks hopefully.

Newt tries not to grimace at the thought and is glad to have a genuine excuse to avoid Hagrid’s frankly abysmal cooking.

“‘Fraid not,” he says quickly, smiling in a manner which he hopes is apologetic. “I’m in a bit of a rush. Plane to catch and all that.”

Hagrid nods though it’s clear to Newt that he isn’t quite sure what Newt means by  _ plane.  _

“Take care of that egg for me,” Newt continues, striding for the door. “I’d like to meet her sometime when I get back.”

“Where y’headed?” Hagrid asks, already lost in marvelling at the egg’s fine markings. 

Newt smiles. “New York.”


	2. The Suitcase

Once he’s safely outside the apparition boundary, having managed to restrain himself by speaking to a minimal number of creatures in the forbidden forest, Newt disapparates and is pleased to find himself in one piece outside The Leaky Cauldron. As he steps inside, he’s greeted by a somewhat harried Tom.

“Afternoon, Tom,” he greets, flashing his lopsided smile and casting a worried glance down at his case. “Do you have a room to spare for a few hours?”

“Not staying the night?” Tom asks with interest. He’s one of the few people who indulges Newt’s excited ramblings about his latest adventures and Newt has always been grateful for that. 

“I’m going away for a while. Just want to freshen up a bit before I go,” he explains which isn’t exactly a lie. 

Tom leads the way upstairs with Newt following closely behind. “Anywhere exciting?”

“Back to New York,” he says vaguely. “I need to speak to...an expert...there.”

Tom shoots him a look which conveys both the knowledge that Newt isn’t being entirely truthful and also something like amused approval. He hands over a key. “Well, you know where everything is. Hope your trip goes well.”

Newt gives a stilted nod in response. He really doesn’t want to make small talk with Tom anymore. His fingers are itching to set down his case and check on everybody but he’s learned that it’s rude to abandon someone mid conversation. Thankfully, Tom seems to have nothing further to say and shuffles back towards the staircase. 

The second the door shuts behind him, Newt places his suitcase flat on the floor and climbs inside, satisfied when he hears the latches pop shut behind him.

The lighting in the shed is dim and he quickly spots Harry - Harry Potter - still fast asleep on Newt’s bed. Newt creeps closer, keeping his movements slow and silent as he would when approaching a creature that he doesn’t want to startle. As he nears, he can see that Harry’s dark hair is mussed against the pillow and his cheeks are flushed pink. Newt wonders if perhaps the room is too warm for him and resolves to ask him about it later. A voice in the back of his brain which sound annoyingly like Tina urges him to write those thoughts down but he shoos it away. 

_ I’ll remember,  _ he thinks stubbornly.

Satisfied that Harry is safe for the moment, Newt makes the rounds with feeding buckets hooked all the way up his arms. The mooncalves are lolling sleepily in their enclosure but they come bouncing over at the sight of food. Newt gives them a little extra for their patience and leaves them to eat. He calls for the graphorns and, as he waits, he throws the erumpent’s food into her enclosure. After all these years, Newt has given up on trying to convince Pickett to return to his tree and he can’t deny that he enjoys the company of his constant little companion.

With the animals fed, watered, and appropriately coddled, Newt returns to his shed and spells his hands clean with a silent  _ scourgify  _ before again approaching the sleeping child. Tentatively, he reaches forward to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder and almost yelps in surprise when Harry jerks awake and scrambles to sit up. Harry squints fearfully at him as he lifts his wand to summon Harry’s glasses from the worktop and it’s with uncertainty that he accepts them from Newt’s proffered hand.

“Morning,” Newt says awkwardly, unable to meet Harry’s eye for long. It’s always harder when he’s already nervous. “Well, afternoon, really. Did you sleep well?”

Newt, with his eyes fixed on Harry’s upper arm, sees him nod. 

“Do you remember where you are, Harry?” He asks gently.

Harry looks around himself with mild confusion before going quite suddenly still. His eyes are closed and he’s trembling and Newt isn’t sure what to say. 

“You took me in your suitcase,” Harry whispers and he sounds frightened. 

“I did,” Newt confirms. “You were a little overwhelmed so I gave you something to help you sleep. Do you remember that?”

To Newt’s relief, Harry nods slowly. Then, he sits up straighter, straining to look past Newt who turns to follow his gaze. When Newt turns back to Harry, he finds him looking sheepish. 

“Sorry, sir,” he mumbles but there’s a small smile playing around his lips. “I saw you put your, uh, your niffle in here but I couldn’t see it.”

Newt bites back a laugh. “Niffler,” he corrects automatically. “He’s in his den. I can take you to see him if you like?”

Harry deflates at this suggestion and Newt isn’t sure why. His small fingers fiddle with the blanket and he keeps his eyes fixed there too. “No, that’s okay. Thank you.”

_ Interesting.  _

Newt has always found that he gets on better with children because they haven’t yet learned to lie with their bodies. Even if their words are untrue, which they frequently are, children have very honest bodies and Newt, as a self-proclaimed expert in animal body language, finds this very helpful. But Harry, like Credence before him, has learned the art of lying far more thoroughly than should ever be necessary for a child his age. Newt can’t read him as clearly as he would like. But he tries not to be frustrated by this, to remind himself that this is a defence mechanism developed by a terrified creature just trying to survive. 

“Well,” he says, pointedly ignoring the startled jump he gets in response. “I reckon you must be hungry. Personally, I think I could eat a whole horse.”

Unfortunately, not even this first-class joke can get a smile out of Harry. Newt imagines Tina rolling her eyes at him.

“How does toast sound?”

With Harry’s silent approval, Newt lights a fire in the grate with a flick of his wand and, with another, sends some bread floating across the room to hover above it. Harry watches with unabashed fascination as he moves to sit on the floor. If Harry is anything like Credence, Newt knows exactly what that means. 

“Come sit at the table, Harry,” he says, making an active effort to keep his tone unaccusing. If he’s right in thinking that Harry had never been allowed to eat at the table before, he doesn’t want to embarrass him with those memories.

While Harry picks nervously at this toast and marmalade, Newt pens a quick letter to Tina, aware of Harry’s eyes on him the entire time. He tries not to be bothered by this but he does find himself stiff and uncomfortable with Harry’s scrutiny. But he isn’t about to tell him to stop. Newt is just about to sign his name on his purposely vague missive when Harry’s small voice cuts through the quiet.

“Why are you writing with a feather?” He asks. 

Newt just manages to keep from blotting the parchment in surprise. He scribbles his initials and puts his quill back in the inkpot before turning to Harry who looks both nervous and defiant about his own boldness. Newt admires his resilience silently. 

“It’s called a quill,” Newt explains, plucking a fresh one from his desk drawer and comes to sit next to Harry at the table. He points to the tip. “See here? This bit’s been carved out so that it can hold ink.”

He offers the quill to Harry who takes it carefully, holding it as though it’s something precious and delicate. Harry twirls the feather between his fingers and frowns. 

“Why don’t you use a pencil?” He asks curiously.

Newt smiles. “You’ll find that a lot of things in the wizarding world are a little old-fashioned. Quills, parchment, attitudes.” This final remark clearly goes right over Harry’s head and Newt tries to reign in his own low grade annoyance with the world’s backwards attitudes to focus on Harry. “Wizards tend to think that magic has already improved upon the muggle world as much as it can and they’re reluctant to embrace muggle technology.”

“Muggles?” Harry asks, growing braver.

“A muggle is what wizards call someone who doesn’t have any magical abilities,” Newt explains, watching Harry’s face drop minutely.

“Like me,” he says forlornly.

Newt swallows and tentatively reaches out to place his hand over Harry’s which is still twirling the quill but with much less enthusiasm. Startled, Harry looks up and Newt forces himself to meet his eyes.

“No,” he says softly. “You’re a wizard, Harry.”

Newt isn’t quite sure what he expects Harry’s reaction to be. His face is unreadable as he absorbs this information - not that Newt has ever been particularly gifted at reading the intricacies of facial expressions - and he stares intently at his toast. Just when Newt is about to speak again, perhaps say something comforting or just check if Harry can still hear him, he speaks.

“Okay.”

Newt blinks. Harry takes another bite of his toast, deliberately avoiding Newt’s attempts to catch his eye. 

“You’re doing okay?” He asks cautiously. 

“I think so,” Harry says, voice betraying no particular emotion. “Is that why freaky things keep happening around me?”

Newt doesn’t comment on the language Harry uses but he thinks he should probably tackle that soon. “What kinds of things?”

Harry puts his toast down and starts tracing the lines in the wooden table with the tip of his finger. He shrugs. “Different things. I made my hair grow back once and I ended up on the school roof when I was running away from- when I was running.”

The stumble doesn’t go unnoticed but Newt holds his tongue on that front and says, “Those things are what we would call accidental magic. It’s quite normal in children and even fully-trained wizards lose control sometimes.” He swallows. “Have you ever seen the smoke before now?”

Harry draws his hands into his lap and shrinks. The effect is so impressive and immediate that Newt is absolutely heartbroken. Part of him wishes he could take the question back but he knows that he had to ask.

“One time, I thought my fingertips were smoke,” Harry admits quietly. “I was scared. But I closed my eyes and I wanted it to go away and when I opened my eyes again it was all normal.”

Newt digests this information thoughtfully. He is actively resisting the urge to take notes at this point and is willing his uncooperative and dreadfully forgetful brain to retain this conversation long enough for Newt to write down his findings. But he doesn’t want to make Harry feel like a test subject so he’ll take notes later, in private. 

“Thank you for being honest with me,” Newt says gently. “I know it’s not easy to talk about things like this. Why don’t you finish up the rest of your toast and we can prepare for a bit of a trip, hm?”

“A trip?” Harry perks up somewhat at this. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t you mean, where are  _ we  _ going?” Newt says with a grin. 

Tentatively, like he isn’t certain if it’s allowed, Harry smiles back. 

“ _ We, _ ” Newt goes on, emphasising the word so that Harry can’t mistake it, “are going on an adventure. Have you ever been to America?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Well, I have and I have some really good friends in New York who would absolutely love to meet you.”

“Are they,” Harry looks over his shoulder nervously and drops his voice to a whisper, “magic?”

Newt feels his own smile growing to match the glow on Harry’s face. “Yes, they are. There’s a whole world of magic out there waiting for you and one day you’ll see it all. You’ll go to school to learn about magic and you’ll play magical games with your friends and you’ll meet all sorts of magical creatures.”

“Magical creatures?” Harry asks. “Like unicorns? And your niffler?”

“Exactly,” Newt enthuses, so caught up in Harry that he’s startled by the sudden appearance of Pickett who climbs out of his top pocket and onto his shoulder. Harry, for his part, is staring at the tiny creature without the faintest glimmer of his previous fear but rather with rapt fascination. Newt smiles. “This is Pickett. He’s a bowtruckle. They’re tree guardians and very good at picking locks.”

Harry bites his lip. “Is that why he’s called Pickett?”

Pickett puts his hands on his hips (or where his hips might feasibly be) and looks pointedly at Newt who sighs. 

“I admit that I’m not the most creative when it comes to names,” he says sheepishly, ignoring Pickett’s confirmatory squeak. 

Harry looks delighted. “What’s your niffler called?”

Newt flushes. “Jeremy.”

As mildly embarrassing as this admission is, it’s worth it to see Harry giggling with unabashed delight. 

(“Jeremy!” He huffs through another fit of laughter and Newt finds himself chuckling along with him.)

Once the hysterics have died down somewhat, Newt remembers the letter to Tina which he has abandoned unceremoniously on his desk. He scoops it up before it can disappear under a stack of papers and tucks it into an envelope, writing Tina’s name on the front and tucking it into his pocket. He looks over to Harry who has again taken to watching him with guarded curiosity. He smiles and offers his hand.

“Would you like to see how wizards send letters?” He asks.

Harry furrows his brow. “You don’t put them in a postbox?”

Newt smiles. “Goodness, no. Owl post is much more efficient.”

“Owls?” Harry squeaks, scrambling to his feet and practically shoving his hand into Newt’s outstretched one. “Let’s go!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i originally intended for this chapter to involve the journey to ny but apparently they wanted to have a conversation so i hope this will suffice instead. we shall begin adventuring in the next chapter!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this is an entire AU which has grown from a plot bunny to a plot dragon. In this AU, as you will gather, Newt never had kids and never married Tina for reasons which will hopefully become clear as this progresses. I'm still working out a few kinks but I'm super excited for this. I will do my absolute best to update this as often as I can but I am terrible and get distracted. I have also never written an autistic protagonist before so if anybody has any advice/concerns/would like to help me out with that please do let me know! Also your lovely comments have kept me motivated thus far so thank you for that!!!


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